“That would explain why between the two of them they couldn’t light up a ten-watt bulb,” Marino says. “They’re street-smart but that’s about it. And it’s shitty. Little kids shouldn’t have to be street-smart.”

“The sunglasses they picked up,” I go back to that. “What do they look like?”

“Maui Jims, sporty ones.”

“Rimless with amber lenses?” I inquire as I get a sinking feeling again.

“Yeah,” he says. “They were near the body, according to Enya. The lenses are dusty and scratched real bad, and I’m thinking the victim may have been wearing them when she was attacked. Assuming they weren’t already damaged.”

“We need to be careful about saying she was attacked.” I don’t like it when he makes me feel like a scold.

“When you saw the lady riding her bike earlier did you notice if her sunglasses were damaged?”

“I didn’t notice, assuming that’s for sure who this is.”

“I think we know.” He pulls off his gloves and tosses them into the nearby biohazard trash bag hanging on a metal stand. “It’s hard to imagine we’re talking about two different women who look similar, are about the same age, and both had on Converse sneakers and a Sara Bareilles concert T-shirt. And maybe the same type of sunglasses. And they appeared in the same part of Cambridge at the same time.”

“Even if they’re the same person that doesn’t mean we know who she is.” I’ll continue reminding him to be conservative even if he doesn’t listen.

“And the other thing the girls had squirreled away?” He picks up a roll of paper towels, tearing off several squares to wipe his face. “A pendant. A gold skull about the size of a quarter, like from a necklace. I’m thinking it came from the broken gold chain.”

“Where was it found?”

“They said on the path near the bike. Based on where they showed me, I’m thinking it was in the general area where the pieces of chain were.” He tosses the wadded paper towels into the bright red trash bag next, and I follow them with my used shoe covers.

“The woman I encountered earlier was wearing an unusual necklace shaped like a skull. It was gold and looked fairly substantial, not flat like a medallion but rounded with contours,” I inform him. “I noticed her flip it around to her back, tucking it into the back of her shirt when she rode across Quincy Street, heading into the Yard.”

“It’s gotta be her, and I’m not liking that you saw her twice right before she got whacked. I keep worrying that she’s got some connection to you, Doc.”

“I can’t imagine what it would be,” I reply. “I don’t believe I’d ever seen her before today.”